Gotham City
by MySignalFire
Summary: Why so serious? Because the Joker is rising to power, and he's got one ultimate opponent: The Batman. But what happens when the Batman is not around to cut the Joker's dirty business? ...also has a continuation of the Dark Knight film.
1. The Election

**(A/N:** **This is one of the rare times that I will post an Author's Note in the beginning of this particular Fanfiction so do pay close attention: This was originally a Fanfiction known as **_**The Dark Knight**_**, but I thought it was a bit…amateur. So please do READ, REVIEW, AND ENJOY!**)

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**Gotham City**

**Wayne Enterprises, August 5, 8:23 AM**

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Lucius Fox, tall, dignified, the African-American CEO of Wayne Enterprises, appointed by the famous Bruce Wayne himself, sat at his desk with news headline videos streaming on his flat-screen LCD computer from Gotham Cable News's website.

"Senators Obama and McCain's ongoing battle for presidency, however, is masked in Gotham's own race for district attorney." The clip ended. Fox clicked on a relevant video, last night's "episode" or Gotham Cable's Premier News Program, Gotham Tonight.

The letters GCN flew across the screen, and suddenly hotshot reporter Mike Engel's face was plastered onto the computer. "Welcome to Gotham Tonight. I'm Mike Engel, and I'm gonna be bringing you all the information _first_ about Election '08." Fox put the volume up. Last night was election night for the DA. Forget about presidents – Gotham was waiting for the leader, close-to-home, that would make the change. Something like Obama. That's why Fox's vote was with Harvey Dent. So far, all that current DA Roger Garcetti had managed to do was allow Gotham to sink deeper into the mudhole.

"Gothamites came out in full force today overrunning polling stations across the city, waiting up to three hours in some precincts to cast their votes." Here Engel's face grew slightly dark as the corners of his lip curled down to make a small frown in his barely pudgy face. "News of the record-breaking turnout, through, was eclipsed by yet _another_ story of the vigilante known as the _Batman_."

Lucius's pen was now in his mouth as he watched on, curious. Engel went on to say that three men with baseball bats attacked a polling location in the south that evening, threatened voters, and destroyed Harvey Dent campaign posters. The Batman allegedly came into the scene, disarmed the men and beat them unconscious, leaving them tied to a tree outside the station. Police identified one of the men as Albert Rossi, a known member of the Falcone Crime family.

It was 8:30. Fox stood up, turned off his computer screen. The CEO shouldn't be late to his own board meeting, it's bad class. He straightened out his suit. After the incident regarding the gassing of the Narrows, the rumored Batman, whom some said was half human, half bat, had disappeared. That is, until just two weeks ago, when it seemed apparent that Harvey Dent was taking the lead and rumors that Roger Garcetti was Mafia-backed by the Falcone Crime Family rose to an ultimate high. It was the war on crime and the Bat was willing to break the rules to let the good guys win.

Lucius carried his briefcase to the board meeting. "Hello, everyone." He opened the briefcase on the desk. There was a large manila envelope labeled "LSI." Lau Security Investments. Bruce Wayne's suggestion. They were one of the richest companies overseas, and partnership with them meant great power, wealth, and respect. He began to speak about a joint venture with the rest of the board.

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**Gotham City**

**The Narrows, August 5, 8:47 AM**

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The first night was enough to tell him that he was really free. And it felt so strange. He didn't want to be free, not yet. He wanted time to think about it. Think about what happened to him, what he'd become, and why he was so…happy. At the same time, he was very mad. Mad in an angry way, mad in a crazy, deluded sort of way. Yes, that was him.

Did he have a name? No, not really. He was just the scarred, half crazy patient at Arkham Asylum that was released by good Doctor Crane and the bribed SWAT's. Count on the good guys to turn bad.

That's what he did.


	2. The New Lords

**Gotham City**

**East Side, Metro Apartments, 9:30 AM**

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It had been months since Jonathan Crane had taken up the mask as _Scarecrow_ in an attempt to gas the narrows. Months since Rä's Al Ghul had died in the Gotham Monorail. And Harvey Dent had just been elected Defense Attorney of Gotham City.

Dent was one of those idealists. He couldn't be bought out. At least Crane would be protected by the Druggie Crime Lords, or at least, what was left of them after Dent's crusade against the underworld. Crane was sheer genius! A brilliant young success! But of course, the entire academic world had to see the egotistic side of him, and his forged thesis paper. But forging a thesis paper meant nothing did it? That's why Arkham didn't care when he applied there. Soon he made it to a managing position among the psychotherapy-and-psychopharmacology department. His favorite subject: fear.

Why did he care so much about fear? He thought he could create an _antidote_ to fear, a way for everyone to be afraid no longer. And when that was possible, he would rule over them, as leader. Such childish dreams, but they meant something. They meant something when he discovered the proper elements of the rare blue flower. It acted like Opium, except it produced a certain chemical that triggered the hormones responsible for reacting to fear. And if he could just find the right dose of it, test enough people, he would be able to create the perfect antidote.

But no, that _Batman_ had to get involved… Foolish. Crane had the opportunity to test among millions! And then… and then the legal mess, courtesy of A.D.A. Rachel Dawes. If it weren't for that, he would have solved the problem. As Jonathan Crane, he could do nothing. But as Scarecrow…

He sat at his desk. Here he lived under the name of "Jackson Court." No one could know… His phone rang. He picked up.

* * *

**Gotham City**

**Maroni Estate, 9:30 AM**

* * *

It was true, this place was once called the Falcone estate. But the man was locked inside a cell at Arkham, murmuring something to himself about _Scarecrow… Scarecrow…_ And to be quite frank, Salvatore Maroni was very well all right with that. He was the new Don, he was the new leader, and now he had all the money he ever wanted.

Billions.

Enough to retire this business. But no, he wanted to keep going. Own an infinite stock of money! And, of course, get rid of opposition. Harvey Dent was one of these annoying little – he even managed to make GCN's very own Mike Engel call him down for an interview. "Yeah, yeah, we'll do it tonight. I'm just a regular guy, like you and your camera guy!" And so on and so forth.

What he had on his mind, at the very least, was something different. After Falcone's fall, it was evident that the other crime lords were willing to shoot each other in the backs until one of them got up to the top of the list. And the new "Batman" was making things even worse for the drug world. Maroni proposed a simple solution: join forces. Already it had begun to work.

In Russia, there was a small place called Chechenya, where a man who called himself the Chechen became a powerful leader in the breaking away from the Mother Land. Because Chicago, Metropolis, and New York City, among other places, were stuffed with enough drug lords, he came to Gotham City in it's earliest. And when Falcone nosedived into insanity, he decided to shake arms with Maroni. A joint venture, he called it, of the Underworld. And so it worked.

Maroni also made deals with other Crime Lords, such as Gambol and Marquard.

When the Chechen came to Maroni's door that morning with a certain lackey named Burton, he told him about a man with drugs that would _really_ send customers into orbit. This man called himself the Scarecrow.

Maroni was hesitant, but sure, why not? They made the call. They knew a junkie. His name was Tim Otis. That was enough to set them up.

* * *

**Gotham City**

**Wayne Penthouse, 9:57AM**

* * *

The penthouse wasn't even completely settled. If only the mansion hadn't burned down a couple of months ago… Not all of the new furniture had come. At least the bed was there. Bruce Wayne rolled over and woke up.

"Ah, Master Wayne," said his butler, Alfred. "Bloody early, innit?"

"Well," said Bruce. "I wasn't off on any black-masked charade last night." He stood up, stretched, and grabbed the coffee off of the tray on his end table. "Batman got to rest last night. Thank goodness for me."

"I had rather hoped you'd given him up," said Alfred. "Are you…"

"Going to continue being Batman?" Bruce looked at him, took a sip, and continued. "Yeah. Crime has definitely not ended. Most certainly not ended. There's no way that it has. And as long as there's this huge crime… this underworld _mess_… then there's gonna be a Batman."

"Or until someone else takes that off your chest, eh?" Alfred walked a little closer to Bruce. "You've been like a son to me, Master Wayne. Seeing you do this is like watching you put yourself through torture."

"But it isn't torture," said Bruce. "It's the only way. After… after their deaths, I made a promise. I made a promise that I would end all of this."

"You can't end crime," said Alfred. "As long as there are people, there are crimes. Look, we've already got a changing society. You've seen that! Harvey Dent, newly appointed D.A. You saw that, didn't you?"

"Wrong," said Bruce. "I fell asleep as soon as I saw his face." _As soon as I saw Rachel, actually_, he thought.

"Never mind that," Alfred said. "What I want to say is this: he's the one who'll help you with this, don't you think?"

"I'm keeping tabs on him. Maybe so. I really hope so." Bruce finished his coffee and stuffed a bagel into his mouth. "I think I'm gonna go down to Wayne Enterprises…"

"So soon, sir?"

"Yes," he said. "There's some deal with a company called GothCorp. I don't trust it. That's why I had them make it. I think some lawyer named Parker is going to review files with Fox, and Fox said he wanted me there."

"All right. Be a little late. Won't hurt _you_."

"I already am late, Alfred," Bruce said, patting his back. "I hope the Porsche is ready."

**(A/N: Thanks for the single review :P I really want to ask for more reviews. I generally do with each fanfiction that I write. This way I know what to write, how to make things better...yadiyadiyadi... and if you give me a review, with each review comes a new plot twist. No, I do not jest. I'm being quite honest with you. Please, please, PLEASE review! I promise I won't let you down ;) And as for the question I recieved, yes the story STARTS between Batman Begins and The Dark Knight. But it's going further. REVIEW!)**


	3. The Man Who Laughed

**Gotham City**

**Wayne Enterprises, August 5, 10:23 AM**

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"Mr. Wayne, please remove your –"

"Got no time, buddy, I'm late." Bruce Wayne shoved a one-hundred-dollar bill into the entry guard's pudgy, red hand. He then forced his way through a small group of businesspeople on the first floor as he made for the elevator. "C'mon…" he muttered.

Usually he didn't care about being late, but this was one meeting he couldn't miss. Something about competition for Wayne Industries… and a question for Fox.

_Finally_. The doors swung open and he burst into the conference room. "Lucius, I…" but Lucius had no response, save for a surprised look. The board stared. "Erm. Where's Mr. Parker?" He expected the lawyer to be here, after all, he rushed to be on time and all that. He even missed breakfast.

"Actually, Mr. Wayne, I'm right here," came a voice from behind him. Bruce turned to see a young woman with dark brown hair standing next to a board with various graphs.

"_Miss_ Parker," said Bruce. "Well, that was… okay, great. Let's keep uh… going."

"Floor's yours, Miss Parker," said Fox.

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**Gotham City**

**Abandoned Docks, August 5, 11:00 AM**

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It took him very few minutes to realize that he had actually fallen asleep. It wasn't for long, obviously. He didn't need sleep, did he? _No_.

He stretched and ran his dirty fingers through his greasy, badly-dyed green hair, and spat on the floor. He was inside a rusted hulk, of course. A place no one would care to look. He walked, albeit uncomfortably, as he was still wearing a too-small orange Arkham jumpsuit, quietly observing the area. It was too quiet for him.

He was angry.

He kicked something – a large rock, possibly? – and whatever it hit in the darkness had shattered. Within seconds his fingers had felt sharp edges. "Ah –" they were covered in blood, slit open, gushing. Pools formed on the ground. He tried picking up the broken shard again, and as he had already cut himself there wasn't much else he could to his fingers.

It wasn't any old glass, it was a mirror. And in that mirror he saw a smile. A large, very big, very scarred smile.

And then, much to his own amazement, he began to laugh. First in soft, silent giggles (wasn't it the Arkham doctors that always told him that laughter is the best medicine?) and then louder, and louder, until it had become a hysteria. Those scars. They meant everything and nothing. And so he laughed, because it didn't make any sense… it didn't make any sense, but it did.

He laughed so hysterically that he was sure he had lost himself. But he couldn't: he was unique, one of a kind. "See kids?" he muttered, after calming down. "When the end arrives… there's no one you are _more_ than yourself."

He had hit his own point. A memory that came at him out of nowhere, like a bullet shattering glass, square in the middle of his mind. _"I'll have it all,"_ said the man in the memory. _"I'll live in Gotham like a prince."_ That man, of course, was him. But was it really? He only heard the voice… he only saw the place… So who was he really? Was he himself now, or then? "No," he said out loud. "It's now." That man had dreams. "And you never break promises," he spat again, tongue jabbing out of his mouth, a direct result of anti-psychotic meds. "I'll rule Gotham, my way or no."

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**Gotham City**

**Starbucks, August 5, 11:20 AM**

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Pretty face, dark hair, soft eyes. Those were the first features Harvey Dent noted when A.D.A. Rachel Dawes walked in early that morning to meet him. Then he was briefed over whatever necessary information he did not already know for the position of DA.

Now he was getting a morning coffee with Rachel. No need to ask her, they were discussing the Gotham Mafia, something he'd promised to eradicate in his campaign.

"Well, they've already _talked_ with Maroni on there, now they want you. Both sides of the argument. You've got an interview with them in two days regarding your plans as D.A., don't you? It's already been made clear that you've got a _lot_ of reforms coming up. We need to settle that with them, make sure they see that you're in for a real change." Rachel smiled as she took the coffee from the barista. "Thanks."

As Harvey grabbed his and mixed the sugar and cream in, he responded. "Correction: the reforms've already begun. I'll be checking in at the Internal Affairs department at the MCU, of course, making sure they're doing their jobs right." He choked, then turned back to the barista. "I asked for a double-shot, not –"

"I'm sorry, sir, let me fix that." The barista took it to the back.

"Now this deal with Maroni," said Rachel. "His cover is, he's a trader –"

"A friggin _drug_ dealer," Dent spat.

"A _trader_," Rachel continued, "but it looks like… we've got enough evidence to cut him out. What I think we _need_ to do, as an immediate course of action, is to have Human Resources departments meeting up with the IA's to cast out mafia-backed lawyers from their firms and judges from the law. Add that to the policemen we've caught, and we'll be good."

"Right," said Dent, sipping from his double-shot. "Eliminating the need to monitor his going to prison. You're exactly right, everything has fallen into our laps – er, rather, our _briefs_ – and I'm hoping it'll all work for the best."

"Amen to _that_," said Rachel, eyes tinkling.

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**Gotham City**

**Wayne Enterprises, August 5, 11:22 AM**

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"If we go through with these deals, transactions, and other investments, we'll have enough to put GothCorp out of our way – at least, as far as competition is concerned."

"Well, Miss Parker, you make an excellent case," said Fox. "But, surely the expenses –"

"Seem to look as though they'll help us in the long run," said Bruce thoughtfully. "I like it. We'll need calculations done, of course… the dilligence –"

"I know someone who is perfect for the job," said a rather pompous British boardmember. "He comes from a _very_ prestigous consultancy. Coleman Reese?"

A couple of the others nodded. "Good," said Lucius. "Then we can begin pushing GothCorp down. We'll be on the utter top of it again."

"We already are on the top of it, Lucius," Bruce said.

Once everyone had left the room, Bruce approached Lucius. "I need your help."

"What is it this time, Mr. Wayne?"

Bruce talked under his breath. "I need a way to find that marked money."

Fox chuckled. "Did they attract attention?"

"Well, they're shiny," Bruce muttered. Weeks ago he had requested a way to mark money without relying on markers – infiltrating the drug system was difficult. But after the Batman had given that irradiated cash to the newly-promoted Lieutenant James Gordon, the money had begun to make its way through to the crime lords. "But that's not gonna be enough to help me find them by the bulk."

"The bulk?"

"Tracking. Mass usage, you know… have enough to see which places are run by _whom_." Bruce hinted heavily here. He never really explained exactly what he was going to use Fox's creations for, but he figures Fox was intelligent enough to figure things out.

"Let me get this just straight. You want… let's se… a way to determine high quanitities?"

"Yes," said Bruce. "If you have that kind of thing."

"You happen to be in luck," said Lucius. "Come with me." Bruce followed him into the Research and Development department. After walking through several rooms and design spaces, Fox stopped at a cabinet and from it, pulled out a rectangular metal scanning device. On it, there was a small yellow-and-black symbol. "Hold it up near the pile of paper and it will scan the particle levels to sense the level of irradiation. There are no marks on it that can trace back to Wayne Enterprises. I had it made when you requested the irradiation of the bills, because I figured you might need it." Fox grinned.

"Perfect."

**A/N: All right, so three chapters are underway. I'm going to incorporate some darker themes next chapter, so be ready, and the mayor will be met up with. We'll be travelling to Arkham for some spots in the next couple of chapters. This chapter served as a basic explanation of a lot of the things you might have picked up in the movie or in the books. We introduced a new company, a new character, yadiyadiyadi, and this was just a little too corporate for my taste :P so I'm excited for the next bit! It's going to be taking a wild turn.** **Please do REVIEW!!**


	4. East York, 32nd Street

**Gotham City**

**East York, 32****nd**** Street, The Narrows, August 5, 12:04 PM**

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Months ago he was "released" from Arkham Asylum by SWATs. That was what his mind was lingering on quite recently, from when he was inside the rusted hulk, to when he was wandering the streets of the Narrows as he usually did. Until just recently he stayed there, murdering people for simple, small needs. The second night out, it was a double-homicide: he was in need of food and a game to pass the time, so he murdered a newly married couple and stole both their chicken leg and their poker cards. Unfortunately for him, all of the cards fell out of their pack. So he began to pick them up. He needed all of the cards to play solitaire.

Well.

All the cards except for the Joker cards. Those were generally useless… and _that_ was the point that hit a spot with him. Everyone had told him that _he_ was useless. That couldn't be, no, not at all. He picked the two cards up and observed them closely. This would be his symbol. This would be his reason. He stuck the card on the wet blood of the dying man. Of course, it was only a few hours later that Lieutenant Gordon spoke with Batman about a "double homicide."

But that was months ago, wasn't it? By now, he had done enough to get small adrenaline thrills. It wasn't enough. Nothing was enough. He heard his new name, the one that the people had begun to call him. It was right. It was fitting. It was whatever he heard whispered in the dark of the shadows on the most dangerous of streets. The Joker.

Now _that_ was the plus side of a theme. No one would forget him. And he'd make sure of that. He wasn't going to be just another "remember him..." he was going to God Gotham. He'd rule it.

It was difficult at that point to do such a thing when people only knew his name. Those who knew his face only figured out who he was when they were about to die. He was a scarred, dirty-blonde haired man. He attempted to dye his hair once, permanently green, because to him, green meant unique, one-of-a-kind. There weren't that many green-haired freaks roaming the slum-ish Narrows of Gotham City. But the hair and scars, _they_ weren't enough to show people that yes, he was the one they feared would slit their throats at night to let the blood soak the white sheets until they were not just red, but brown with dirty, waxy flakes of flesh. He felt a thrill at the very thought. A small level of adrenaline shot through his body. But still the hair and scars weren't enough to inspire fear that laughs in the middle of the night, when one saw his face and that big, grotesquely beautiful smile. It wasn't enough, any of it. He was the one they called the "Joker," wasn't he? He had to embrace it.

He walked along East York street until finally he reached the Halloween store at 32nd. It was open year-round, one of those stores where incredibly depressed teenagers made their hangouts and drug addicts went on highs in the back. He pushed through door and strode in, knife in his pocket. If no one bothered him, he wouldn't kill them. As to why, he didn't actually know. Sure, he got a little nervous before the kills (what if they move and I can't slice a smile right?), but that was what gave him the adrenaline. He enjoyed the thing.

"Ay, man," said the heavily pierced-and-tattooed young guy in the back. He was stuffing a few wads of money from the cashier into his chained wallet, thinking the management wouldn't notice. They hardly came 'round to collect anything anyway. "Wus crackin'?"

"Your spine," said the Joker in a rather monstrous, deep voice. He cleared his throat... concealment until the opportune moment was key. He had a habit of avoiding conversation with people in general, they were so _predictable_. "You got any white?" Now his voice a little more stringy, somewhat soft, and a little creepy at the same time. The pierced boy shuddered a bit, his large ear gages swinging with his head. The Joker's eyes rested on his black-and-purple Mohawk that seemed to be six inches tall.

"Sorry, what?" the man stepped away from the counter; the cashier drawer, left open, contained a lone one dollar bill. "Ay, nice scars. Prosthetic, right? Where'd you buy? Internet sucks here, can't order nothin' for myself. Was thinkin' of something like a loose Arkham freak for a Haunted House. You know they escaped?"

The Joker's rage kicked in. "Months ago." Maybe someone will die, he thought. He snorted. "I asked you, do you have any white?"

"White? Uh. Face paint?" The young man pointed at the back wall, covered in cheap black tarp. "Right there. Says 'Bloody Mary' on 'em. Work real good with skin, you know? Ay, don't mind me." He pulled out a cigarette, lit it, and began to smoke. The Joker rolled his eyes. He grabbed the entire stock of white and stuffed it into the duffel. "Ay, man, you gotta pay for that!"

The Joker sighed and pulled out a rusted blade from his pocket. The handle was already sticking out earlier; after all, these civilian's jeans did not do much good in holding things. When he had the time to get a worthy costume, he'd make sure there were pockets. "I like your shirt," he said as he grabbed the guy in half a headlock. The guy was wearing a dusty purple blazer. It wasn't good enough, but it'd do. He began to squeal and squirm. The Joker's adrenaline was pumping fast through his blood, rushing through his head. Light-headed and excited, he stuck the rusted blade in the boy's mouth and began to push on the left side. Blood spurted out. This was exactly what the wanted, exactly what his goal was. The pain… it meant happiness, it meant clearness, it meant _fun_. And fun was exactly what he found in all of this. He had never felt more real, more alive. And now he'd be able to do it.

The teenager began to cry. The Joker sighed and rolled his eyes, then pushed the blade _harder_. More pain, more pain, more pain. "You know, this is why I hate most teenagers. You can't shut the fuck up. No one gives a damn about your problems." Blood spurted onto the Joker's white "Gotham Girls" shirt that had a picture of Miss Statue of Liberty on the front (the last person he killed had apparently just returned from New York City), but he was careful enough not to let it spill on the dusty purple blazer. He had a look in mind that he didn't want distorted by carelessness.

"_Please_," the boy managed to spit out. It was muffled by the blood that was filling his mouth. That coppery taste scared him out of his mind, and his eyes began rolling into his sockets, as alive and conscious as he was. Pieces, particles of rust, fell off of the blade and got caught within the walls of his torn open cheek as the Joker made slow work – painful enough to teach the boy a lesson… if he managed to live through traumatic experiences as this. Chances were the boy wasn't intelligent enough to be anything like the Joker, but that didn't matter.

"I'm sorry?" the Joker sliced up, not stopping at the jaw. He began to razor through, trying to get past the muscle. It was difficult, and he figured it would suck. "I don't like that word, _please_. You see, the word _please_ didn't get me anywhere, no, not even when I begged Uncle Mickey to get away from my face. Uncle Mickey didn't care, Uncle Mickey thought it was funny. He would always ask me, 'Are we having fun yet?' Course, Uncle Mickey and Daddy were always the same… asking me to lighten up, to smile. And now, no matter what anyone says, you're gonna _smile_. Because quite frankly, _kid_, it'll show you the real world." He cut right to the ear. The boy fell unconscious. "Well, _that's_ no fun." It was half a smile. He quickly cut a small end on the other side, to even it out slightly. If the kid was unconscious, it didn't matter. He quickly switched shirts with the boy and fitted himself into some temporary purple pants. Cheap. The price tag read fifteen dollars.

The sun was high in the sky, reflecting beautifully off of the dank windows of the building beside the Halloween Spirit Store in the alley. It smelled of rats in this place, rats, sewage, and death. And all of it made the Joker feel alive. _This is Gotham_. And in the most decrepit of places, he'd make his mark. There were the druggies, the bookies, the junkies, and all of the above hanging around by the trash dumps on the corner net of this place. He pulled out a knife and grinned.

It was time to hit the leaders where it hurt.

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**All right, well, I had a great time writing this… forgive my psychopathic-ness. I haven't had too much time lately with practice SAT's coming up, but whatever. Let me know what you think; I will be writing a little more on the Mayor, and a ****very**** interesting scene with Mr. Wayne is coming up in the next chapter. I've already begun drafting so I can say that with complete courage ;) By the way – as for the point of GothCorp in the previous chapter, you're gonna have to wait and see its significance. It's likely going to come in exactly after the TDK plotline has been finished :) PLEASE REVIEW!**

**OH – and I created a "trailer" for this Fanfiction, so it might give some stuff away… not my best quality, first fan made video ever, so bear with me :P www. youtube .com/user/gothamclownmistress**


	5. Enigma

**A/N:** Sorry I haven't updated in a while! One of my drives actually got hacked (haha, since I'm so amazing I hacked right back. Oh revenge is sweet.) and I lost all my files. SO. Now I'm finally updating, and I hope you like this new bit! It features some promised characters. Also, this section does not feature Bruce Wayne, as promised. I'm using that in the next update because I think it flows a little better from here. This is an important area in the turning point that has been the last couple of chapters. I know it may sound a little bland, all of it, but I'm hoping some spice is working its way in there ;) **REVIEW!**

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**Gotham City**

**Mayor's Office, August 5, 1:00 PM**

* * *

Anthony Garcia's head was buried in his hands. With the piles of paperwork sitting directly beneath his elbows he wondered if he'd even get home by midnight. He had about eleven hours until then, and even that didn't seem like enough. Every single sheet, to him, represented every single promise he had made. Gotham was in shambles before! Its past mayor, Roger Garcetti, did too many deals with the devils of the alleyways. He made too many mistakes, and that's what made Gotham so dark. It needed to change. It needed to stay away from destruction.

Secretly, Garcia rooted for the Bat. But he couldn't tell anyone. It was law breaking, what the Bat did; the Bat was a vigilante. Being in his position, a man like Garcia couldn't afford to show open support to someone who could easily bring him down. If someone brought him down, Garcia knew that he'd lose everything he stood for, and Gotham would only be released from its shambles in its underworld. Face value, it needed a real leader to show people what changes truly were made.

He sighed and picked up the first sheet. A criminal profile of a highly important member of the mafia. _Victor Zsasz…_ he looked closely. Zsasz was admitted to Arkham under so-called "insanity defense" just about a year ago, give or take a few months. Garcia smirked. _Some defense_. "Takes years to cure these things. Even then you don't find cures, only scars buried deep within…." Garcia muttered to himself.

"Mayor?" came a voice on the intercom.

"Yes, Ms. Winscott?"

"I have a man here waiting to talk to you. He's submitting an application as your assistant?"

"Can't you handle it?"

"I think you ought to see this… He completed virtually everything in five minutes on the spot, and it's brilliant."

Garcia put his pen down, looked up at the doorway, and sighed. He pressed the intercom once more. "All right, send him in."

The door opened and a tall young man walked inside.

"Sit down," said Garcia.

"Thank you, Mr. Mayor, sir," said the man, sitting down on the chair directly in front of Garcia's desk.

"What's your name?" asked Garcia, looking back down at his paper.

"Nigma, sir. Edward Nigma."

**NEW NOTE:**

This is the same chapter as last time but I removed the Helena Bertinelli thing. As far as I'm concerned she just doesn't work in this fanfiction.

Also, I won't be able to follow up with every single character, such as Garcia's ideas about things and whatnot.  
It doesn't work with the plot and unless it's necessary it won't be in there. Sorry about any confusion! I'm working on trying to shape this up. You're going to be seeing a LOT more Joker than you did before. Believe me, you're going to want to hold on to your seats. ;) xxx, Lady Sparks


	6. Note to readers: UPDATING SOON!

Hey everyone –

I will be updating this within the week. IRL I have final exams – and haven't posted in a few months because of school. Rest assured, it will be up.

Love,

Lady Sparks


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